Cold Comfort
by TutorGirlml
Summary: Season 3 post-ep one shot for "Birthright" Hotch works late in an effort to forget and someone calls him on it


Here is the other one shot that I've recently completed. I had the idea for it way back in Season 3, and it does take place directly after the episode "Birthright" from that season. Now that's it's finally finished, I'm pleased with it, but I worry that it isn't melancholy or bittersweet enough in light of what's recently happened to Hotch on the last episode of the show. Not to mention that I always worry about writing him well enough when I focus on Hotch in my writing. Despite all that, I'm posting it anyway, and I hope you like it. As always I own neither the show nor any of the characters.

Cold Comfort

Rain was pouring down outside, just as it had been for days; sluicing in watery rivulets down the window panes of the Bureau offices on the second floor of the BAU at Quantico. Most of the lights were off – it was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it – but the glow emanating out of one singular window; a fuzzy yellow through the rainy, muggy air if viewed from outside, made a determined – if lonely – exception. SSA Aaron Hotchner was still hard at work. Now looking out on an empty bullpen, and getting all the more done for it, he saw no reason to stop, no reason to go home, not much chance he would rest well if he did so.

Everyone else, even his own team – who were all ridiculously committed workaholics, whatever the drive or the demons that led them to it – had left hours ago. Hotch didn't resent it; he was glad to see them go, glad that they still had something beyond this place, the monsters that they chased, and their varied haunting pasts to escape to. Sometimes, he felt that he had failed at the "everything else" of his life, and had therefore lost it. Work was the only thing he had left, and where he had always been competent, dedicated and faultless, he was now nearly obsessed and bordering on fanatical in his drive and determination to lead his team on case after case.

At this moment, burning the midnight oil, he had nothing left but paperwork to occupy him. He found the repetitious details and mundane nature of the same forms and reports he had been filling out for years oddly comforting. It was a cold, distant sort of comfort, but it was something. It was a familiar ritual of sorts for him – something in his hollowed-out life that had not changed, and never would. This work had to be done, he would do it, and it was as satisfying as anything he had in its accompanying sense of accomplishment.

It was true that a job well done, the respect and prestige he had earned, and the love of the surrogate family he headed and shepherded day after day and year after year would not fill the gaping hole emptied out of his life by the departure of Haley and the loss of her love, but he had always been one to make do with what he had and to come out as successful as he could in the end. For a second, the painful memory of Haley's betrayal and turning her back on him and their life together to walk away seared into his brain like the sting of an alcohol-scented slap from a powerful man's hand on the soft, innocent skin of the child he had once been's cheek. His mind shied away from that road, stamping it back down, knowing just how weary and dissatisfied and sad he was that it had even escaped into the light of his waking thoughts. That he no longer had his own son living with him, where he could see him everyday, gather him in his arms, and make sure the monstrous things in the world couldn't harm him, just as Jack neared the age when Hotch's own home and family had become a living nightmare, only added fuel to the fire that burned him from within. Yet, he struggled to hide it from all eyes that could help. In his position, he couldn't afford a moment of weakness. This team had to trust him absolutely – to be strong and capable in all situations – and his superiors had had to find him steady, reliable, and competent at all times; he wasn't for a second fooled into thinking that Strauss (and probably others like her) had backed off and weren't watching and waiting for him to make just one mistake. But more than any of that, what he had lived through, what he never wanted Jack to experience, the scars that had hardened his adult resolve, had been hidden and buried for so long that Hotch felt they were now beyond healing. He wouldn't ask anyone for pity, sympathy, or reassurance – it wasn't in his nature, and he didn't plan on changing that now.

The divorce papers showing up today had only hammered that decision home more fully than ever. After the case in rural Virginia, and the way it had led them all to disturbingly consider the possibility of them each perpetuating the damages and pain that had been inflicted on them in a horrific repeating cycle, he'd been sorely tempted to go out with the rest of his team to unwind when they'd asked him to. Then Haley's final legal slap in the face had arrived, and he had told them to go on and retreated to his office alone. The thought of escaping pain and doubts, for a time had been denied, and he didn't want to spend the evening pretending he didn't see his colleagues sneaking concerned glances at his face and trying to help him in what couldn't be helped. Why should he go and steal what fleeting moments of fun and relaxation they could get from the rest of them with his presence?

And so the hours had passed, until he sat there well after one a.m., all the pertinent work he could find done, and looking for something else to provide even a tiny ounce of numbing solace. He had just run a hand through his severely clipped black hair and moved to stand, put his suit jacket back on, and finally head 'home' to his hotel room since he could put it off no longer, when a light knock sounded on the doorframe.

He looked up sharply, surprised that anyone else would be there, to see JJ standing in the doorway looking a little surprised herself. Her mouth was open slightly in a round 'O,' her hand frozen in air from knocking. The small bit of backlighting from the hallway made her sleek, silky cornsilk blond hair glow, almost as if a halo circled her head. For a moment he blinked, being tired, disoriented, and suddenly reminded him of Haley's guileless blond beauty once upon a time on a fall day on an idyllic college campus when they had both been young. Quickly, he came back to himself, remembered where he was, and focused on the unit's media liaison. But not before he wondered how Will hadn't yet gotten her to promise to marry him and endeavored to make sure he would never lose her. She was a gem – priceless and irreplaceable – in ways he knew he would never make clear to her because he was her boss, it wasn't appropriate, and it wasn't his place. He only hoped that someone let her know how amazing she was.

Instead of continuing that line of thinking, Hotch looked into her face searchingly and asked her what she was doing there.

"Well, I went out with the rest of them," she shrugged, "but I remembered that I left this folder in my office, and I wanted to leave it for you in the morning…" Her voice trailed off though, even as she held out the folder that he hadn't noticed until now in her other hand. She shook her head, and let her beautiful open, honest eyes meet his penetrating gaze, then began speaking again, "Actually, Hotch, that's not true. I came back to see if you were still here. I just needed to...make sure you were alright."

Very seldom was Hotch stumped or surprised by what people did or said, usually he had read them well enough to expect them. But, for a second, he floundered, not knowing how to respond to JJ's admission, before he gathered his wits again. He answered wryly, with just the tiniest hint of a smirk, "Well, you didn't need to do that. I'm right here finishing paperwork as usual. No need for you to be spending your nights in here as well." His voice sounded calm and unconcerned – matter-of-fact – belying the reality that he couldn't help her caring and genuine concern warming his heart in spite of himself.

"You don't need to hide in here by yourself either, Hotch," she remarked, an eyebrow raised as she spoke just as matter-of-factly, letting him know she was onto his game. "You're punishing yourself for something you didn't cause, and there's no reason you couldn't come out with the rest of us; let it go for a few hours. I'd have to be blind not to see that you have every bit of work you can find finished already."

He shook his head at her words, ducking his head to hide the small grimace that acknowledged the truth of her words. It was pointless to tell her once again what an excellent profiler she was, even if she chose not to make it official. "Point taken," he murmured, so softly that she almost didn't hear him. He didn't add that he hadn't wanted his presence to bring the rest of them down, but he sensed that JJ already knew, regardless, and that was why she had really returned to the Bureau offices so late. "You should be home with Will and Henry," he finally added softly, after several moments of long, but easy, silence between them.

JJ didn't miss the wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned her family and going home at the end of the day, but chose not to comment. Her heart went out to her boss, a strong, devoted man she respected immensely, but also cared for more than words could express. However, there simply wasn't anything to say.

Instead, she moved forward silently, not wanting to discomfort Hotch or overstep her bounds, but somehow needing to convey her understanding, her desire to help, some portion of how much she wished she could make his pain better. Though she so often believed that the two of them thought and behaved in the same way, she was still completely clueless as to how to help Hotch through a personal situation instead of a professional one.

Nearing his desk, she reached out, now knowing what possessed her, and covered the hand he had dropped to rest on the solid oak surface with her own small, cool touch. With that simple clasp of her hand, she tried to communicate her own emotions before he retreated and put his walls back up. She wanted him to know that she and the rest of the team thought of him as more than simply a boss, and cared about him. She wanted him to realize that though he put up a tireless, emotionless front of a soldier always in control and always having the answer, she knew he had feelings, and deep down was still human – flawed and hurting – like anyone else. She wished he felt he could confide in her, or in someone, but she knew that he never would. So she satisfied herself with clasping his hand in a show of solidarity and support, and though it was little more than a small bit of cold comfort, she hoped it would be enough.


End file.
